


the last place you look

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Hockey RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Mail Order Brides, Mental Health Issues, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey puts an ad up on Craigslist. Geno answers it.</p>
<p>(Aka "mail-order Mikey," "Mikey is Geno's Craigslist bride," and "it's a trope inversion, shut up.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	the last place you look

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpheratz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/gifts).



The ad is short and simple.

_SWM, early 30s, available for live-in domestic support. All-inclusive. Drug/disease free as of 30 days ago. Low maintenance. Loves animals. Takes direction well. Repeat: all-inclusive. Pics available by request._

Everyone’s been telling Geno that he needs some help in his home life. The dog is lonely and destructive when Geno goes on the road. The cat’s fur gets matted. Dust builds up and things rot in the kitchen. His mother, Sid, Coach, even Lazy. They’ve all told him he needs some domestic help.

This person on Craigslist offers _domestic support_ and loves animals. Also he’ll live in the house! How convenient.

Geno clicks the link to e-mail a reply. _I need domestic support very much. Pic attached. Come live at my house._

When he checks the next day, he has an answer. _You are very handsome. You look like you work out. Send me the address and I’ll be there this weekend._

_My name is Mikey, by the way._

**

Geno isn’t sure when, exactly, Mikey meant by “this weekend,” and he doesn’t like to vary from his routine if he doesn’t have to, so he goes on a run Saturday morning as usual. He takes the dog with him, because Koshka has far too much energy and it needs to be run off.

Maybe this domestic supporter speaks Russian and will understand why Koshka is a funny name for a dog. Geno doubts it, though.

When he gets back to the house, sweaty and with a sore wrist from tugging on Koshka’s leash, there’s a man sitting on his front steps. He’s average height and very skinny, with pale skin and brown hair pulled back from his face. He has a backpack in his lap and a duffel bag to one side of him, and he looks very bored.

Koshka flings herself into his lap and licks his face, because she has no manners.

“You are Mikey?” Geno asks cautiously, trying to pull the dog off of him. “Koshka, bad! Sit!”

“She’s fine,” the man says, even though Koshka has knocked him almost flat on the porch. “She’s a sweetheart. And yeah, I’m Mikey. You must be the guy? I never did get your name.”

“Geno.” Geno clears his throat and offers his hand. “Sorry. I’m very sweaty.”

“It’s fine. I knew you worked out.” Mikey shakes his hand and digs his way out from under Koshka. “Nice to meet you. Show me around the house?”

Geno takes him inside and points out the kitchen, the living room, what Sid calls the mudroom, the bathrooms. Mikey nods a lot and doesn’t say much, just keeps petting Koshka, who follows them happily, hoping for treats.

“This is the trophy room,” Geno says, pointing into the last room on the ground floor.

Mikey’s eyebrows go up. “Trophy room?”

“Yes.” Geno turns the light on and lets Mikey go in. He turns in a small circle in the center of the room, staring at the walls. Geno thinks the room is embarrassing, but many of the guys do this, to keep their things all in one place. Photographs, medals, trophies, and special jerseys, pucks, and sticks, autographed and framed. “I don’t use this room much,” Geno adds.

Mikey looks at him, his eyes very wide. “You… play hockey.”

“Yes.”

“I did not realize that. Wow. You must’ve thought I was an idiot, saying you look like you work out.”

Geno shakes his head. “No. You were right. I do work out.”

“Because you’re a professional athlete.” Mikey looks at the walls again. “Wow.”

“Do you like hockey?” It will be much easier to get along if he’s a fan, or at least interested in the sport. Talking to people who don’t like hockey is difficult. And boring.

“Yeah. Yeah, totally. You’re Geno _Malkin_. I did not realize that.” Mikey blinks at a photo of Geno in his jersey from his first Olympics. “Russia,” he says softly, to himself. “Got it.”

“I’ll show you the upstairs,” Geno says. The look on Mikey’s face makes him feel like he should apologize, though he isn’t sure for what. This is his house, these are his things. It’s not his fault if they make Mikey feel strange.

Geno hates making people feel strange, though. He just wants to… get along.

Koshka shoves her nose against Mikey’s hand, and that seems to shake him out of the moment of discomfort. “Pretty girl,” he says, ruffling her ears. “Yeah, please, show me the rest of the house.”

The upstairs is bedrooms. One of them is full of boxes, another is full of hockey gear, a third is a carefully made-up guest room. “This is where you can sleep,” Geno says. “I should have put your things here first, sorry.”

Mikey frowns and hesitates in the doorway. “Here?”

Geno isn’t sure why Mikey is so confused. “Yes. It will be your bedroom.”

“You don’t want me to…” He gestures as he trails off, like it should be significant and meaningful.

Geno stares at him. Mikey stares back. If not for Koshka pulling a bone out from under the bed and yelping in triumph, they might have stood there all day.

“I mean,” Mikey says finally. “I said all-inclusive. In the ad.”

Geno waits another moment, then shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

An odd expression flickers across Mikey’s face, one that Geno can’t quite put a name to, but it’s quickly replaced with a small, close-lipped smile. “Okay. No problem. This is a really nice room, thank you.”

“There might be cat hair on the blanket,” Geno says. “Chashechka likes to sleep here in the afternoon, it gets the sun.”

“Chashechka?” Mikey says the word carefully, stumbling over the sibilants.

“My cat. I don’t know where she is, probably hiding somewhere.”

“Chashechka,” Mikey says again. “What does it mean?”

Geno sternly tells himself not to blush. It’s okay for cats to have cute names. Small, cute things should have them. “Little cup, like a teacup? I would have called her Koshka, but I already named the dog that.”

“What does Koshka mean?”

“Little cat. Not like a kitten, but cat.”

Mikey’s smile relaxes a bit, becoming more wistful. “A dog named kitty. That’s cool. I used to have a cat named Bunny.”

Geno grins. Oh, good. He really does like animals. “They are nice to have around, yes?”

“Very nice.” Mikey glances out the window, then turns back to the door. “Can you show me where the bathroom is? And then we can… I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

“Of course. It is there.” Geno points to the correct door. “And I need a shower. Are you hungry? We could get lunch, after?”

“Sure.” Mikey stares at him again, eyebrows lifted like he’s expecting something. Geno waits a moment, until Mikey’s face reddens and he drops his gaze. “I’ll hang out downstairs.”

“Okay. Help yourself to the TV.” Mikey seems nice, and only a little bit strange. That will get better as they get used to each other, Geno hopes. It usually does.

**

The first few days are awkward. Geno has practice and a charity appearance, so he’s busy during the day, and when he gets home at night the house doesn’t look any different. He isn’t sure how to ask Mikey if he cleaned; that seems rude, and the state of the house really doesn’t bother him anyway, especially not when the pets have clearly been fed and brushed and walked. That’s the most important change he needed, anyway.

There are cereal bowls in the sink and breadcrumbs on the counter, so Geno knows that Mikey is eating, but Mikey doesn’t _say_ anything, doesn’t ask for what he might prefer. Also Geno knows that eventually Mikey will eat all the food in the kitchen. So on the fourth day, Geno stops on his way down the hall and knocks on the door to the guest room.

Mikey’s voice is sleepy and confused. “Yeah?”

“Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” The door opens and Geno steps back. Mikey sleeps in his underwear, too. Superhero boxers.

“Batman,” Geno says. “Very nice.”

Mikey looks down at himself, then up at Geno. “Thank you.”

Geno holds out a credit card. “Here.”

“Um.” Mikey takes it carefully and squints at it, holding it close to the end of his nose. “Okay. Why?”

“So you can buy groceries. The car keys are on the table by the garage door.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to believe that I’m Evgeni Malkin.”

“Evgeni,” Geno says with correct pronunciation. “They won’t notice. They never look.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Mikey glances up at him. “Anything in particular you’d like? I can cook tonight. I mean. I can try.”

“I have a game tonight.” Geno hates to be disappointing. “You could cook tomorrow?”

Mikey nods and wraps his fingers around the card, moving his hand like he’s going to slip it into his pocket and stopping when he realizes there’s no pocket there. “Totally. Good luck at your game.”

“You will watch?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Me and Koshka and Chashechka. All lined up on the couch.”

His accent is terrible. “I will score a goal for you guys.”

Mikey grins, maybe for the first time Geno has seen, and it’s nice. It’s a very nice smile. “Yeah? You can just say you’re gonna do it and go do it?”

“Yes.” Geno shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “It’s what I do.”

“Okay. Cool.” Mikey slips the card in the band of his boxers, giving up on the pocket situation. “I’ll see you tonight.”

In the car, that terrible song about being happy is playing. Geno refuses to clap his hands along with it, but he does hum, a little bit.

**

Geno scores two goals. He plays well, it feels good, and even the boring reporters after the game can’t spoil his mood.

When he gets home, Mikey and the pets are waiting up, all wearing matching Penguins jerseys.

“What is this?” Geno laughs, picking the cat up in one hand and ruffling Koshka’s ears with the other. “You dressed them.”

“I took the credit card to Petsmart after the grocery store. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s great. Very great.” Geno grins at how angry his cat’s face is. “Chashka, you are so cute!”

Mikey’s face lights up a little. “Oh, you can shorten it?”

“Yes, of course. Chashka, Chashechka, all the same.” Geno turns his grin to Mikey. “You watched the game? Did you like it?”

“Dude, you were awesome. I thought you were gonna go for a hat trick.”

“Thought about it, but I have to let Sid score sometimes, too.” Geno sets the cat down and moves toward the kitchen. “Good game, I’ll have a beer. You want one?”

“No thanks.” Mikey follows him to the kitchen, though, lingering in the doorway while Geno gets beer and sandwich fixings out of the refrigerator. “Can I help you with that?”

“No, no.” Geno makes an apologetic face at him. “Very particular about this, sorry.”

Mikey laughs softly. “I get it. It’s cool.” He moves a step closer. “So, um, you were really impressive tonight. In the game.”

“Thank you.” Geno adds more mayonnaise. “I love hockey. A good game is my favorite thing.”

“You just. You really seem to know what you’re doing out there.”

Geno glances at him. “I have played for a very long time.”

Mikey has big eyes. Very big and very dark, like a cow’s eyes. He’s staring very intensely at Geno. “I’m gonna do a thing now, and if you don’t like it, just say so, okay? Don’t punch me through the wall or something.”

“Why would I punch you? I don’t--” Before he can explain that he doesn’t want to punch anybody off the ice, Mikey is pressed up against him, kissing him. He feels smaller than he looks, lighter. Geno could shrug him off easily without punching, without any violence at all.

But the kiss is very nice. Mikey knows how to kiss. Geno puts the mayonnaise down and settles his hands on Mikey’s hips, steadying them both.

“Like I said,” Mikey says quietly, looking up at him. “All-inclusive.”

Geno answers just as quietly. “I still don’t understand that.”

Mikey blinks, then laughs softly, shaking his head. “We could go upstairs. To your bedroom.”

“You want to?” Mikey is pretty; Geno isn’t oblivious, he’s noticed Mikey being pretty, all around the house. But he doesn’t like to make assumptions.

“Yeah.” Mikey leans in and kisses him again, one of his hands drifting down to brush across the front of Geno’s pants. “Yeah, I do. Let’s go.”

“Can I bring my beer with me?”

Mikey laughs, pulling back and running his hand over his hair. “You want to drink a beer while I blow you? You think you’re a rock star?”

Geno hates to waste a good beer once it’s open, is all, but Mikey is even prettier laughing. “Maybe a little bit.”

“Yeah, bring it. C’mon.”

Mikey moves very fast, once they’re upstairs, very efficiently. He steers Geno to sit on the edge of the bed, sinks to his knees, and tugs Geno’s warm-ups off without any wasted motion. He didn’t let Geno turn the lights on when they came into the bedroom, so it’s very dim; Geno can’t make out Mikey’s expression in the dark, only the reflection of his eyes and the rough outline of his face.

“You’re huge,” Mikey says matter-of-factly, his hand warm against Geno through his briefs. “I haven’t done this for a while, so it’ll be a stretch.”

“I haven’t had any complaints.”

Mikey laughs again. “No, I’m not complaining definitely not complaining. Just.” He pulls Geno’s cock through the flap in his briefs and runs his thumb over the head. “Don’t worry if I gag or whatever. That’ll make it even better, right? Really wet.”

Geno feels like there’s something he’s missing, here, a layer of context that makes Mikey’s quick, stuttering words less strange, makes them match the deft and gentle way he’s touching Geno. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Mikey nods, glance up at him again, then leans in, taking him deeply in his mouth. Geno closes his eyes and takes a gulp of his beer, gripping the edge of the mattress with his free hand.

Mikey makes it last a while, until Geno spills the last bit of his beer and groans and asks him to please, _please_ let him come. Mikey swallows, too, which is nice--tidy--and stays on his knees for a moment in the dark, resting his head against Geno’s thigh.

“Wow,” Geno says, trying to avoid the beer seeping along through the blanket without dislodging Mikey. “That was really nice.”

Mikey huffs softly, either a laugh or just a rough breath. “Thank you.”

“Come up here and I’ll help you out?”

Mikey lifts his head and looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“Of course.” Geno offers his hand and tugs Mikey up onto the bed. “Here, lie down on your back.”

Mikey is quieter than most of the guys Geno has been with, only making soft, muffled sounds, but he relaxes completely after he comes, almost melting down into the sheets. Geno takes that as a sign of a job well done and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then pulls the blanket up over Mikey.

“This is your room,” Mikey says, propping himself up on his elbows. “I can…”

“Don’t be silly.” Geno shakes his head and stands up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Are you sure there’s room?”

Geno stares at him. “It’s a very big bed.” A California king, the store told him. The biggest they had.

Mikey stares back. “You’re a very big guy.”

“Stay.”

“Where are you going?”

Geno’s glad the dark of the room will hide his blush. “To get my sandwich. You distracted me, but I’m still hungry.”

“Oh my god.” Mikey starts giggling and Geno grins. He wishes the dark wouldn’t hide this part, so he could see Mikey laugh. “Better hope Koshka didn’t get it.”

“Oh, shit.” Geno leaves the bedroom at a run. Koshka did get his sandwich, so he makes another one and eats it, with a second beer, before he goes back upstairs.

When he gets there, Mikey’s asleep, his body curled around Geno’s extra pillow. He looks nice, lying there.

**

The next night, Mikey goes back to the guest room. That makes sense, Geno supposes. It didn’t occur to him that Mikey would wait for a specific invitation to stay, and he feels awkward offering one, so he says nothing, and they sleep apart that night.

The next day he leaves for three days on the road. He knows Mikey will look after the pets and take the garbage out, which is good, but it gives him time to think about the whole thing, their whole… everything. Sex and sleeping arrangements and the fact that Mikey lives in his house but they never truly talked about what’s going on.

They’ve hardly talked at _all_ , Geno realizes while he sits on the bus. He doesn’t know anything about Mikey’s life, his past, his family. He doesn’t know why Mikey doesn’t work. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t have his own home. And Mikey doesn’t know anything about Geno except that he plays hockey and gives his pets stupid names.

Geno feels terrible and it distracts him enough that he spends what feels like most of the first game in the penalty box.

Sid corners him in the locker room, asking what’s wrong, what’s on his mind. Geno’s too tired to try to explain it. He says it’s just an off night, and lets Sid hug him. That feels a little better.

He can fix this, after all; the problem is that they haven’t talked, so when he gets home, they’ll talk. Easy.

**

Koshka greets him at the door when he gets back, frisking up and down the hall and trying to climb Geno’s body while he walks. “Nice girl,” he says, tugging lightly at the fur at the back of her neck. “Where’s your friend, yeah? Where’s Mikey?”

He hears Mikey before he sees him, standing in the kitchen with his phone to his ear.

“Yeah,” Mikey says, looking out the big window that faces the backyard. “Yeah, for real. He’s so nice.”

Geno hesitates, not wanting to interrupt. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, either, but if he steps back in the narrow hallway he’ll step on Koshka.

“I’m staying here with him. The guest room. Yeah. It’s… it’s nice, you know? It’s really fancy and clean and… I don’t know. Nice. I’m helping out with the pets and, like, the shopping? I started doing the laundry yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find the vacuum.” Mikey laughs a little, quickly enough that it must be at his own words instead of anything the other person said. “Alicia would be fuckin’ amazed, right? No. No, don’t tell her, Jesus, Gerard.”

Geno does take a step back, then, catching Koshka’s collar and tugging her along with him. This definitely isn’t a conversation he’s supposed to hear, though it’s given him some pieces. Alicia. Gerard. People who make Mikey sad.

“I’ll call more. Promise.” There’s the sound of Mikey putting something in the sink. “I’ll call tomorrow. Give Bandit a kiss for me. I love you too.”

Bandit, that must be a dog or cat. Geno files the pieces away in his head and clears his throat loudly, dropping his duffel bag to the floor. “Hello? Mikey?”

“I gotta go, Gerard.” Mikey’s steps cross the kitchen floor and he smiles from the doorway, his phone gripped tightly in his hand. “Hey. You’re back. Great game last night.”

“Thank you.” One goal and two assists in the second game. Much better. “How are you? All is good?”

“Everything’s great. I’m great.” Mikey’s smile is fake. It doesn’t match his eyes. “Koshka and Chashka and I had a great time.”

“Great.” Geno looks away, giving Mikey a little space. Being stared at when you don’t want to be is difficult. “I will change and we can go out to dinner?”

“I’d like that.” Mikey sounds relieved. Geno chose right, then. No pressure, not now. He’ll put off talking until after dinner, or maybe tomorrow.

Upstairs, the lights are off, but the door to the guest room is open, the afternoon light spilling across the floor into the hallway. Geno glances inside, noting that Chashka is, as usual, sprawled out on the bed, soaking the sun up into her belly fur. “Privyet, devuchka,” he says, stepping inside to gently stroke her. “Kak dela?”

Chashishka chirps at him, and he pets her some more, suddenly distracted by the books lying on the carpet. There are four of them, lined up flat next to the box from Amazon they must have arrived in.

_Introduction to Russian Culture. Russian 101. Russian Language for Dummies. How to Talk to Russians (And Make Them Understand)_.

Geno blinks a few times, carefully presses a kiss to Chashka’s fur, and makes his way to the shower. His chest feels full and tight.

Mikey wants to talk to him, too.

**

The days get away from him, though, and they don’t have a big talk. They eat dinner together and watch TV on nights when he’s home. On those nights, Mikey turns to him and kisses him at some point, and they go upstairs together and suck each other off in Geno’s bed before falling asleep. But they don’t talk, really. Not about their lives or anything.

Mikey must be reading those books, though, because one day he presents Geno with a plate of caviar. “I got this for you.”

“Thank you,” Geno says. “Ah. We eat it on bread? Not just with a spoon.”

“Oh.” Mikey’s face falls a little. “Sorry.”

“No problem. Just get some bread, yeah? We’ll eat it together. Have you ever tried it?”

Mikey’s nose wrinkles. “Once. It sort of was like eating cold jizz.”

Geno sets the plate down carefully and covers Mikey’s mouth with his hand. “Please don’t say that.”

“I can’t help it,” Mikey says, muffled. “It’s true.”

“This is terrible.” Geno is grinning despite himself. “Heartbreaking.”

“Maybe we could warm it up? I mean, warm jizz is… you know. More palatable.”

“No. Caviar is not served warm.” Geno releases him. “Get the bread.”

“Cold jizz on toast.” Mikey makes a face and steps toward the kitchen. “Awesome.”

Geno grabs him again, around the waist this time, and pulls him down into his lap as he seats himself on the couch. “So heartless, Misha.”

Mikey is giggling and squirming, quite distracting. “What’s a Misha?”

“A small Michael.”

“That’s me.” Mikey turns his head to look Geno in the eye. “We should make out.”

“Okay.” Geno kisses him and lets Mikey turn himself around in his lap, straddling him on the couch. This feels different than the other times, less like it’s building on a direct line from here to the bedroom. It almost seems like Mikey’s being playful. Geno hadn’t even realized he’d been worried about Mikey’s lack of joy until he feels his relief now at sensing it.

“Horosho,” Mikey mutters. “Ochiin horosho.”

Geno traces his lower lip. “You are learning Russian?”

“You know a lot of English. It seemed fair.”

“Maybe so.”

“Mojet biit.” Mikey frowns. “Right?”

“Da.” Geno kisses him again. “You are a star student.”

“Ha. Not even close.” Mikey leans on him. “This is nice. I mean, I… I like living here, with you. I think it’s going okay. Right?”

Geno shrugs. “No complaints.”

“Cool.” Mikey kisses him again, but it’s rougher, shorter, more agitated, and after a moment he pulls back again. “The thing is. Eventually I’m going to do something terrible and screw everything up.”

Geno is having a very hard time following this conversation. “What kind of something terrible?”

“Drinking or drugs or, like, getting really sad for a really long time, or getting in an emotional entanglement with an inappropriate person, or… I don’t know. Something. It changes every time, but it’s always something terrible that ruins everything.”

“Oh. Well.” Geno blinks. “Maybe you could do something less terrible.”

“I wish I could. I really wish I could, like, see it coming and dial it down. But I can’t. It just happens.”

“Oh. When is this going to happen?”

“I don’t know.” Mikey looks terribly sad. “Sometimes it’s years between them, sometimes it’s, like, a few weeks. I can’t predict it.”

Geno doesn’t know how to ask this properly. It’s a very American concept and one he doesn’t do, but Mikey is American, so… “Do you talk to someone?”

“Therapy?” Mikey’s face falls a little. “Sometimes. I mean, I have before. It helped for a while.”

“Maybe do that again.”

“Is that, like, a rule? Do I have to do that for you to let me stay?”

“Not a rule.” Geno will let him stay as long as he wants, regardless. But something urges him to be honest without saying that part. “I would just like it, if you did.”

Mikey studies his face for a minute. “Shit. That was, like, the only thing you could’ve said that would make me think about it.”

“I’m very good with people,” Geno says. He’s serious, but it makes Mikey laugh and kiss him again, and some of the sadness seems to go away.

**

Geno has a call with his parents a few days later, which Mikey listens to from the couch, looking a little overwhelmed. Denis is visiting home, so he gets on the phone, too, and they talk about hockey for a bit. Denis is tired of waiting for Geno to win the Cup and says he’d better step up this year. Geno is doing his best, of course, but it’s not entirely in his hands.

Everyone is well, things are well in Magnitogorsk, and Geno hangs up feeling satisfied. “My family,” he says, by way of explanation for Mikey. “We talk when we can.”

“That was intense.”

Geno shrugs. “Not really. Just family.”

“With all the shouting?”

“Oh. No. That was talking about hockey with my brother. Just brotherly shouting, you know?”

Mikey rests his chin on the arm of the couch, watching Geno thoughtfully. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Yes, an older brother. Denis. He lives at home, in Russia.”

“I have an older brother, too.”

“Really?” Geno turns to face him. “Where does he live? You haven’t told me anything about your family.”

“He lives in LA. Our parents live in New Jersey. Um. There’s not a lot to tell, I guess. Nothing special.”

Mikey is so tense he’s practically throwing off sparks. “You are not close with them?”

“We’re close. We’re really close. It’s just, like. It’s hard to explain. It’s not special, or anything, just… complicated.”

Geno is definitely missing context here. A lot of it. “Should I not ask more?”

“You can do whatever you want. I mean. I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

Geno sits quietly, and after a moment Mikey gets up and mutters something about needing a snack. He doesn’t come back into the room, and Geno isn’t surprised.

This is a question he’s going to have to take to the guys.

**

Sid and Nealsy are not happy with Geno’s story.

It starts out okay; Geno said he needed some help with how best to help a friend who was upset about something but not very good at saying _why_. And then they asked who the friend was, and how Geno knew him, and it all came out wrong, Craigslist and living at the house and taking care of the pets and not cleaning very much.

“Geno,” Nealsy says firmly. “People don’t just do that.”

Geno frowns at him. “They do, though. We did.”

“He is probably going to beat you up and rob you.”

“He couldn’t beat me up. He’s very small.”

Sid sighs, a big, unhappy sigh. “Geno. He is a prostitute.”

That was not what Geno expected to hear. “No. No, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Do you have sex with him?”

“Not your business, Sid.”

“So yes, you do.”

Geno kicks at the floor. “I don’t give him _money_.”

“No,” Nealsy says flatly. “You give him food and shelter so he doesn’t need money to pay for them at all. You cut out the middle man.”

“He is a hooker, man,” Sid says again. “You need to call the cops.”

Geno knows he isn’t going to call the cops on Mikey. But the words follow him home. That night when Mikey goes to kiss him, Geno pulls away, catching Mikey’s wrist in his hand and holding it loosely.

Mikey studies him for a moment, his own face going blank and shuttered. “Something I said? Or you’re just tired of me?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything.” Mikey pulls his wrist free and stands up, moving to the far end of the couch. “When do you want me gone by?”

“I didn’t say I want you gone.”

“What do you want, then?”

Geno takes a deep breath and lets it go. He needs to step carefully, speak carefully. He can’t grab Mikey and shake him, even though it’s tempting. “Who are you? Where did you come from? Why do you not have a place to live so you have to ask other people to take you in?”

“You never wanted to know any of that before.”

“I always wanted to know it. It just didn’t seem right to ask.”

“But now it is?”

Geno shrugs. “Yes.”

Mikey’s eyes narrow a little and they stare at each other for a moment. Geno is good at being the immovable object. He can wait this out. Mikey is not an unstoppable force, anyway.

Sure enough, after a moment Mikey sighs and turns his gaze away. “Fine. Okay. I need something to drink, though. While we’re talking about it.”

“Coffee?”

“Coffee with vodka in it, maybe.”

“That’s not good for vodka or coffee.”

“Geno, I just--” Mikey stops and breathes hard through his nose. “Okay. Coffee.”

Geno goes to the kitchen and starts the coffee maker, tapping his knuckles restlessly against the countertop while it brews. Mikey is so upset, so agitated. This is probably a bad story. Maybe he’s a criminal, or a victim. Maybe he has a disease. Maybe he owes money to the mafia. But this is America, so more likely it’s unpaid parking tickets.

He pours two cups and takes them back to the living room. He points to the couch until Mikey sits down before he hands him his coffee. “Talk.”

Mikey grips the cup with both hands and frowns at it, his face scrunched up while he thinks. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t you have a home?”

“I sold it during my divorce and moved in with my girlfriend, but then we broke up and I lived with my friend Dave for a while, but then that didn’t work out and I didn’t want to deal with buying a whole new house for myself.”

Geno blinks. “You like women?”

“That’s really not the important part of this story,” Mikey mutters. He takes a drink of his coffee before he goes on. “Okay. I guess I’ll go back to… have you ever heard of My Chemical Romance?”

“I’ve never heard of your anything.”

“It’s a band. My Chemical Romance. That’s the name.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well. I was in that band. Me and my brother and some other guys, my friends. We were kind of a big deal.”

Geno isn’t sure how big a big deal is, since he hasn’t heard of them, but maybe they were most popular while he really focused on hockey and not paying attention to music. That was a number of years. “And now the band is gone?”

“We broke up and I decided to destroy my life instead of, like, dealing with it.”

Geno nods slowly. “I guess it’s not like hockey, where you can join another team.”

“I tried starting another band. My friend Dave, that I mentioned. I started one with him. But then I ruined that, too, because I’m, like, a nuclear waste zone of a human being.”

“That’s not really funny,” Geno says quietly.

“Am I laughing?” Geno doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, Mikey sighs. “I don’t know why I made the Craigslist ad. I just… I wanted somewhere to go where I wouldn’t be responsible for anything, so I couldn’t fuck it up. Where someone could, like, tell me what to do, so I wouldn’t fuck up. I wanted to belong to somebody.”

“You don’t belong to me.”

“I wanted to feel like I did.”

“I don’t own people.” Geno rubs the back of his neck and sets his coffee aside. “Why Pittsburgh?”

Mikey shrugs. “I put that ad on Craigslist for every major city I ever liked.”

“What do you like about Pittsburgh?”

“The, um.” Mikey reddens. “The mall where they shot Dawn of the Dead.”

“Oh.” Geno nods. “Okay.”

“And you. I mean, now. I like you.”

Geno lets himself smile a little bit. “My friends are worried that you’re going to beat me up and steal my money.”

“Beat you up?” Mikey looks lost. “How would I even do that? I could maybe hit you with a car, I guess.”

“They haven’t met you.”

“And I have money. I don’t need to steal yours.” He frowns. “I guess I should start contributing to groceries.”

“It’s fine. You don’t eat much.” Geno stands up and offers Mikey his hand. “Come with me.”

Mikey stands up warily. “Are you going to throw me out?”

“No.” Geno tugs him up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom. “That’s enough talking, I know the story.”

“Not the whole story.” Mikey shakes his head. “There’s more. It sucks.”

“Do you want to talk about that now? Or tomorrow?”

“Ideally never.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Geno pushes him down onto the bed. “Sex and sleep will help.”

That earns him a breathless laugh. “You think so?”

“Yes.” Geno pulls his shirt off and drops it to the floor. “Yours too, come on, naked.”

“You really don’t mind any of this?” Mikey sounds so bewildered. Geno stops unbuttoning his trousers and sighs.

“I thought maybe you were on the run from thugs, yeah? Maybe you owed money to the mafia. Sad and hurt, that’s different, nobody gets shot.”

Mikey’s quiet for a moment, then starts to take off his own clothes. “I guess you have a point.”

**

The next week is busy. At every practice and every game, Geno has to fend off Sid and Nealsy’s concern. They’re good friends, but they’re convinced Mikey is a danger, and Geno doesn’t know how to explain to them that Mikey is just sad, and doesn’t shower much, and overloads the dishwasher, but none of those are dangerous exactly.

He doesn’t have a lot of time to himself, but when he does he looks up Mikey’s old band. It’s very dramatic, with a lot of dark clothes and songs about death, except for when they wear bright clothes and sing about nonsense. Geno’s probably missing something there.

He watches their videos on his laptop on the bus, studying the singer, which the Internet has told him is Mikey’s brother. He changes his hair a lot, but his eyes are the same as Mikey’s, big and wary. He’s the Gerard that Mikey was talking to on the phone that time. Geno doesn’t know if that makes him good or bad, but his face seems nice enough. And he expresses his feelings very openly.

He texts Mikey from the hotel that night. _All good? Watched your band videos. Like the costumes._

The reply takes a few minutes. _We’re all good. Glad you liked them. Wish you were here._

Geno smiles. _Next time you can come._

This reply is faster. _No, I have to take care of the pets!_

_Next home game. Come cheer for us._

Mikey sends a smiley face, the American kind with eyes, and Geno sends back a Russian one, then turns his phone off and stretches out in bed. He’ll invite Mikey to games. He’ll be patient with him while Mikey works on his sadness.

And he’ll have that stupid na-na song stuck in his head all night. Even worse than the light the mups song they played at all the games this year.

**

Mikey does come to the next home game, and Geno gets him a seat behind the bench. Mikey gets a new Pens jersey, one with Geno’s name on the back, and a brimmed cap that he pulls down low over his eyes, like he’s watching the game from inside a cave.

Geno doesn’t score, but he has two assists, and Mikey gives him a big thumbs-up and a smile every time he skates back to the bench.

Some of the other guys notice, asking him who his friend is, and Geno relies on the playing dumb trick that usually gets him off the hook with Americans. “Mikey,” he says, shrugging and gulping from his water bottle. “Friend of mine. Focus on the fucking game, yeah? Getting our asses kicked.”

Sid gives him annoyed looks and tries to loom over Mikey when he moves toward that side of the bench, but Sid isn’t very good at looming, and Mikey ignores him anyway.

They lose the game by one point and have to do the terrible press round in the locker room, and outside the locker room, and in the parking lot. While Geno talks to the last TV reporter Mikey stands near the car and waits, eyeing the camera warily and tugging his hat down even further.

“Shit,” Geno sighs, climbing into the car. “I hate talking to them.”

“Yeah.” Mikey reaches over and pats him gently on the shoulder, an awkward gesture but small and kind. “Sorry about the game.”

“Slump. We will do better.” Geno sighs again. “Tomorrow they will talk shit about me on the Internet.”

“You don’t read it, right?”

“God, never.”

Mikey smiles. “Smart man. I--” He cuts off as his phone rings, and digs it out of his pocket with a frown. “Sorry. My brother.”

Geno gestures at him. “Talk, talk, it’s okay.”

“Hey, Gee.” Mikey settles back in his seat and Geno pictures his brother in the white-hair phase from some of the videos. White hair, very large eyes, lots of gesturing with his hands. “What? Yes, I am, but how did you know that?” He falls silent for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth. “Why were you watching a hockey game? Oh. Why was Ray watching a Penguins game? Jesus.” He exhales a slow, sharp breath. “Well, whatever. Yeah. I’m fine. Yeah. I’m still staying with him. Yeah.”

Geno frowns and guides the car through traffic. Mikey does not sound happy.

“No, you don’t have to do that. No. I think that would--Gerard. Come on. I’m fine.” He closes his mouth with a click and sits in silence for a moment. “What are you going to tell the driver, just, like, ‘take me to Geno Malkin’s house?’ They don’t just do that.”

He stops talking again, but Geno can hear Gerard’s voice coming through the phone, raised and upset.

“Fine,” Mikey says finally. “We’ll do it your way. Whatever. Text me your flight info and I’ll come pick you up.”

He hangs up and stares out the window, and Geno lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks.

“So your brother is coming to visit?”

“Yeah.” Mikey taps his phone against the glass. “Yeah, he is. I hope you don’t mind.”

Geno doesn’t know what the right thing to say is, so he goes with the most obvious response, the one his mother would say. “Of course. I’ll make food.”

**

Gerard is small, and loud, and gestures a lot. His hair is plain brown now, which is disappointing after all the color changes in the videos. His face is not very much like Mikey’s at first glance, but there are expressions and angles that catch Geno for a moment and make him realize oh, yes. Mikey and this man are part of each other.

Gerard is very protective, too, touching Mikey as much as he can. Geno thinks that’s funny, mostly; he wouldn’t hurt Mikey, ever, and if for some reason he did want to, Gerard couldn’t stop him. But it’s nice to see that Gerard _wants_ to be good to his brother.

Even if they keep going tense at each other when they stumble over references to things Geno doesn’t understand. Then it’s all short, clipped words and staring at each other with great significance while Geno retreats to the kitchen and comes back with more snacks or drink refills for everyone. They’re both drinking Diet Coke, which leaves him with many, many beers to drink by himself. He might need them if they keep being so strange.

“It’s nice of you to let Mikey stay so long,” Gerard says eventually, looking from Mikey to Geno. “I was kind of worried he’d get into a bad situation, but this is… nice.”

“Thank you.” Geno drinks half of his beer and shrugs. “I like him very much.”

“Everyone likes him. He’s Mikey.” Gerard sits quietly for a moment, face twisted in thought, then sighs. “Mikes. I just. Are you sure this is healthy?”

Mikey makes a face like an angry cat. “Define healthy.”

“Is it like with Sarah, where you’re trying to like pretend everything is the way you want it to be instead of the way it is, and you’re telling yourself a fairytale, and--”

“This is different.” Mikey’s anger seems to melt away, leaving tiredness, and sadness, again, the constant sadness that Geno doesn’t know how to touch. “It’s really different. I can’t explain it, but it is.”

“Are you seeing a doctor? A shrink? Are you taking your meds or self-medicating or what are you doing, Mikey?” Gerard’s voice is rising, not quite to a shout but headed in that direction. It makes Geno flinch and Mikey hunch his shoulders, drawing himself in smaller in his chair.

“Let’s go in the other room if we’re going to talk about this,” Mikey says. “I don’t think Geno needs to hear all the grimy details.”

“Oh, Jesus, Mikes.” Gerard drags his hand over his hair, a gesture Geno recognizes from Mikey. He thinks about that in a distant kind of way, like they’re already rooms apart from each other; he recognizes the gesture, but apparently he doesn’t really know Mikey at all. He only knows the surface.

“You haven’t told him?” Gerard goes on, his voice getting sharper. “What have you been _doing_?”

“I sort of did!” Mikey’s voice is rising now, too. Geno’s never heard it like this, and somehow that cements it, the alienness of this, how little he knows. “Part of it. I tried to, I _tried_ , but I just couldn’t…”

Geno stands up, carefully twisting his fingers around the neck of his beer to keep it steady in his hand. “I go in the other room. You stay and talk.”

“I didn’t lie, Geno.” Mikey reaches out, his hand stopping before it meets Geno’s arm. That makes it worse, that space between. “I tried to tell you.”

“You told me some of it. I know.”

“I did. I tried--”

Geno shakes his head, and Mikey falls silent. “But you didn’t want to tell me everything. Yeah? You wanted to keep stuff back from me.”

Mikey looks away from him, another space between, even worse. “You won’t like me if you know everything.”

Gerard makes a frustrated noise. “Mikey, that’s not true!”

Mikey turns toward Gerard, his voice going loud again, loud and harsh. “You shouldn’t even be here. You don’t have the right to just come in here and mess everything up!”

“I go,” Geno says again, putting his hand up to make them both stop. If they don’t stop until he’s out of the room and can’t hear them anymore, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

“Where are you going?” Mikey asks, his voice so unhappy it makes something in Geno ache. All he’d wanted was to make Mikey _stop_ feeling like that, sounding like that.

“Outside.” Geno grabs Koshka’s leash from its place on the table, which brings her running. At least he won’t be alone while he waits for them to decide how many lies he should have, and which pieces of this truth that he can’t even quite envision, because nobody wants him to have it. Nobody wants him to know.

**

He sits outside in the dark with Koshka making orbits at the end of her leash for almost an hour before Gerard comes out of the house.

“He wants to leave?” Geno asks, judging off the seriousness of Gerard’s face.

“I talked him into it. He can’t stay here. It isn’t what he needs. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but it just isn’t right.”

“What does he need?”

Gerard sighs. “He’s sick. Mentally. You know some of it, right? He said he told you a little.”

“I know he’s sad. Depression.” Geno tugs a little at the leash, bringing Koshka back to him. “Hard things.”

“Yeah. But not just those. He’s bipolar, so sometimes he swings the other way, and he thinks everything he does is great and right and he doesn’t notice if it’s crazy or not okay or…” Gerard stops for a breath. “Or _weird_. This is weird, right? You knew it was weird. You picked him up off Craigslist. People don’t do that.”

_People don’t do that_. Just like Sid said, like the opposite isn’t sitting right in front of them.

Geno looks at Gerard for a long moment. “I don’t mind weird. And I like Mikey, very much.”

Gerard almost seems to want to laugh. “I bet the two of you sit around talking in half sentences and understanding everything you don’t say. I bet you go days barely talking at all, just… getting each other.”

“We also fuck.”

“You think that bothers me? That doesn’t bother me. Unless you’re taking advantage of him, then I’ll fuck you up. But you don’t seem to be. I don’t get that vibe off you. I don’t think you’re hurting him.”

Geno throws his free hand in the air. “My friends worry that Mikey is taking advantage of _me_! Why can’t you stop worrying and let us be weird together?”

“I want him to be safe,” Gerard says quietly. “I want him to go to a doctor and get shit under control.”

“There are doctors here.” Geno shakes his head. “You said you talked him into it. Maybe you should not do that, but let him decide.” He can think of what Lazy would say here, teasing Sid. “Nobody likes a bossy asshole.”

Gerard’s eyes narrow and there’s a long moment of silence. Geno isn’t afraid of Gerard being pissed off at him. There isn’t anything Gerard can do to him. But he doesn’t habitually look for fights, either, and it feels weird, being in this place. It feels wrong, and it makes him tired.

All of this is making him tired.

“I’m protecting my brother,” Gerard says. “And if you can’t understand that, then I know I’m doing the right thing.”

Geno doesn’t answer. After a moment, Gerard walks away. A while after that--Geno doesn’t count the time, just tries to be still with his heartache--a cab turns into the driveway, waits a moment, and pulls away.

**

He sends a few texts. A picture of Chashka, a simple hello, a question about how Mikey’s doing. He doesn’t get answers, so he stops.

If he keeps pushing, that would be weird.

**

He plays badly.

Coach is angry--he tries to be patient, but he’s angry, Geno isn’t stupid or new at this, he _knows_ \--and Geno’s friends are concerned. Geno himself is only frustrated. He wants to lose himself in the game, forget his feelings in the clean world of the ice, the world he understands by heart. But he plays badly.

Sid keeps trying to talk to him about it, but talking can’t possibly do any good. Geno knows that for sure. He needs shooting practice. Drills. Hitting the puck until he’s tired, and more importantly, he’s playing well again.

It doesn’t seem to be working, though.

He takes a special trip to the rink one Saturday morning, after another disappointing game the night before. Three hours of drills, he tells himself. Fundamentals. Precision. That will bring order back to his universe.

He can’t speak as to order, but it brings him familiar sweat and aches, at least, and he drives home calm if not happy. This is a kind of tired that he knows well. Maybe it can replace the other one and be his better companion. His body is still the same, he understands it, he can rely on that if nothing else.

He loses the thought as he turns into the driveway and sees Mikey siting on the porch, duffel bag beside him and backpack in his lap. It’s just like the first day, except Mikey had cut his hair short, now, and he stands up as Geno approaches.

“Hi,” Mikey says quietly. “Um. Privyet, Geno.”

“Privyet.” Geno stops, his hands uncertain on the straps of his bag.

Mikey clears his throat. “You’re all sweaty.”

“Drills. I’ve been playing badly.”

“I saw. I mean… it’s been a little…”

Geno rubs his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I came to apologize.”

Geno didn’t expect that. He keeps his hand over his face, like a shield, letting him speak without looking. “Nothing to apologize for. You left to get better. See the doctor. You look better.” He does; the sadness is less, or at least buried down deeper. There’s better color in his face. His eyes are bright. “That’s a good thing.”

“I should’ve talked to you,” Mikey says, his voice still quiet. “I should’ve been honest with you. I should’ve… I should’ve said goodbye, at least.”

Geno takes a careful breath and lets his hand fall. “I would have liked that, yes.”

“Gerard knows I’m here. He’s going to, like, call and check in? But I told him… I told him you’re important to me, and he gets that.”

“That’s none of my business,” Geno says quietly, and Mikey flinches back before he gathers himself and speaks again.

“I’ve got meds. I’ve got a shrink who does phone appointments. I’m a fucking mess, Geno, but I think maybe I can see daylight, a little, and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Mikey…”

“Gerard made me actually go, but it wouldn’t have done any good if you hadn’t given me a reason to think maybe there was a point. You got me thinking about it. Remember?”

Geno does remember. But it was just words, that night. Not enough. “I did nothing.”

“You treated me like I mattered.” Mikey looks away and takes a shaky breath. “I’m not good at this. I’m so not good at this. But it meant so much to me that you… I didn’t expect to find anyone like you.”

“I’m not special, Misha.” The endearment slips out before he can stop it, and he sees Mikey catch his breath again. “I’m nothing special.”

“You are to me. And… and…” Mikey stops again and rallies himself before he speaks more. “Ya dumayu shto tebya lublyu, Geno.”

His accent is so very bad, but the emotions in the words, that feels true. “You think so.”

“I do. Yeah. And I… I want to find out for sure. If you do, too, I mean. If you’ll let me come back. I understand if you don’t want me to. I fucked up, before, I fucked up bad, and you--”

“Stop, stop.” Geno holds his hands up. “I wasn’t expecting this when I got home. It’s… much.”

“Right. Right. You’re sweaty.” Mikey’s eyes flick up and down Geno’s body in a way that Geno _knows_ , now, and that is unfair. “You probably want a shower.”

“I do. And a sandwich.” Geno waits a moment, as if he might change his mind. “You can come in and talk to me while I do that.”

“Really?” Mikey starts to smile. “I can come in?”

“You have to be honest. And go to the doctor. And tell me things.”

“Yes. I have a bunch of stuff written down, for real. Stuff I’m going to do.”

“And you have to make friends with my friends, so they get the fuck off my back, yeah?”

“Yes.” Mikey is grinning now. “I’ll butter them up.”

“And you have to eat caviar.”

“Aw, shit.” Mikey wrinkles his nose. “I’ll try.”

“And I get to come first, tonight.” Geno holds his hand out to Mikey. “Deal?”

“It’s a deal.” Mikey takes his hand. “Tebya lublyu.”

“Ty dumaesh.”

“Ya znayu.” Mikey nods. “I mean, I think I know.”

Good enough, Geno thinks, and walks Mikey inside. Good enough for him.


End file.
